Romeo and Juliet: Harry Potter Style
by absentia-varia
Summary: Look at the title and think. Its a Draco/Hermione
1. Prolouge

A.N and disclaimer: I KNOW ITS BEEN DONE B4, But this is something that I wanted to do. And it's William Shakespeare's; we are doing it in English ok?  
  
  
  
PROLOUGE:  
  
Two households, both alike in dignity,  
  
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,  
  
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,  
  
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.  
  
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes  
  
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;  
  
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows  
  
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.  
  
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,  
  
And the continuance of their parents' rage,  
  
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,  
  
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;  
  
The which if you with patient ears attend,  
  
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. 


	2. hogsmeade. A public place

Act 1, Scene 1  
  
Hogsmeade. A public place  
  
  
  
Enter Harry and Ron of the house of Granger, armed with wands.  
  
They walk around talking for a while, when they spy two of the house of Malfoy.  
  
RON:  Draw thy tool! Here comes two of the house of the Malfoy's.  
  
HARRY:  My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.  
  
RON:  How! Turn thy back and run?  
  
HARRY:  Fear me not.  
  
RON:  No, marry; I fear thee!  
  
HARRY:  Let us take the law of the ministry our sides; let them begin.  
  
RON:  I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.  
  
HARRY:  Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.  
  
Enter Crabbe and Goyle.  
  
CRABBE:  Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?  
  
HARRY:  I do bite my thumb, sir.  
  
CRABBE:  Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?  
  
HARRY:  [Aside to RON] Is the ministry of our side, if I say ay?  
  
RON:  No.  
  
HARRY:  No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir.  
  
RON:  Do you quarrel, sir?  
  
CRABBE:  Quarrel sir! No, sir.  
  
HARRY:  If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you.  
  
CRABBE:  No better.  
  
HARRY:  Well, sir.  
  
RON:  Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen.  
  
HARRY:  Yes, better, sir.  
  
CRABBE:  You lie.  
  
HARRY:  Draw, if you were men. Ron, remember thy swashing blow  
  
They pull out their wands and begin to fire curses and hexes at each other.  
  
Enter Oliver:  
  
OLIVER:  Part, fools! Put up your wands; you know not what you do.  
  
They put their wands down and away.  
  
Enter Marcus  
  
MARCUS:  What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Oliver, look upon thy death.  
  
OLIVER:  I do but keep the peace: put up thy wand, Or manage it to part these men with me.  
  
MARCUS:  What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Malfoy's, and thee: Have at thee, coward!  
  
Oliver and Marcus fight. Wands raised they start zapping unnamable curses at each other.  
  
A crowd gathers, of both The houses of Granger and Malfoy, and the citizens of Hogsmeade.  
  
Enter Lord Devon Granger and Lady Melody Granger.  
  
GRANGER:  What noise is this? Give me my long wand, ho!  
  
LADY GRANGER:  A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a wand?  
  
GRANGER:  My wand, I say! Old Malfoy is come, and flourishes his wand in spite of me.  
  
Enter Lord Lucius Malfoy and LADY Narcissa Malfoy  
  
MALFOY:  Thou villain Granger, --Hold me not, let me go.  
  
LADY MALFOY:  Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.  
  
Enter The Minister of Magic, with Attendants  
  
MINISTER:  Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,  
  
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,--  
  
Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts,  
  
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage  
  
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,  
  
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands  
  
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,  
  
And hear the sentence of your moved minister.  
  
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,  
  
By thee, old Granger, and Malfoy,  
  
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,  
  
And made Hogsmeade's ancient citizens  
  
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,  
  
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,  
  
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:  
  
If ever you disturb our streets again,  
  
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.  
  
For this time, all the rest depart away:  
  
You Granger; shall go along with me:  
  
And, Malfoy, come you this afternoon,  
  
To know our further pleasure in this case,  
  
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.  
  
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.  
  
They all leave, save Lord MALFOY, LADY MALFOY, and OLIVER  
  
MALFOY:  Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?  
  
OLIVER:  Here were the servants of your adversary,  
  
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:  
  
I drew to part them: in the instant came  
  
The fiery Marcus, with his wand prepared,  
  
Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,  
  
He swung about his head and cut the winds,  
  
Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn:  
  
While we were interchanging curses and hex,  
  
Came more and more and fought on part and part,  
  
Till the minister came, who parted either part.  
  
LADY MALFOY:  O, where is Draco? saw you him to-day? Right glad I am he was not at this fray.  
  
OLIVER:  Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun  
  
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,  
  
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;  
  
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore  
  
That westward rooteth from the city's side,  
  
So early walking did I see your son:  
  
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me  
  
And stole into the covert of the forbidden forest:  
  
I, measuring his affections by my own,  
  
That most are busied when they're most alone,  
  
Pursued my humour not pursuing his,  
  
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.  
  
MALFOY:  Many a morning hath he there been seen,  
  
With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew.  
  
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;  
  
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun  
  
Should in the furthest east begin to draw  
  
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,  
  
Away from the light steals home my heavy son,  
  
And private in his chamber pens himself,  
  
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out  
  
And makes himself an artificial night:  
  
Black and portentous must this humour prove,  
  
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.  
  
OLIVER:  My noble uncle, do you know the cause?  
  
MALFOY:  I neither know it nor can learn of him.  
  
OLIVER:  Have you importuned him by any means?  
  
MALFOY:  Both by myself and many other friends:  
  
But he, his own affections' counsellor,  
  
Is to himself--I will not say how true--  
  
But to himself so secret and so close,  
  
So far from sounding and discovery,  
  
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,  
  
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,  
  
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.  
  
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow.  
  
We would as willingly give cure as know.  
  
Enter DRACO  
  
OLIVER:  See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.  
  
MALFOY:  I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.  
  
Exeunt Lord MALFOY and Lady MALFOY  
  
OLIVER:  Good-morrow, cousin.  
  
DRACO:  Is the day so young?  
  
OLIVER:  But new struck nine.  
  
DRACO:  Ay me! sad hours seem long.  
  
Was that my father that went hence so fast?  
  
OLIVER:  It was. What sadness lengthens Draco's hours?  
  
DRACO:  Not having that, which, having, makes them short.  
  
OLIVER: In love?  
  
DRACO:  Out--  
  
OLIVER: Of love?  
  
DRACO: Out of her favour, where I am in love.  
  
OLIVER:  Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!  
  
DRACO:  Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,  
  
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!  
  
Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?  
  
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.  
  
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.  
  
Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!  
  
O any thing, of nothing first create!  
  
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!  
  
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!  
  
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire,  
  
sick health!  
  
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!  
  
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.  
  
Dost thou not laugh?  
  
OLIVER:  No, coz, I rather weep.  
  
DRACO:  Good heart, at what?  
  
OLIVER:  At thy good heart's oppression.  
  
DRACO:  Why, such is love's transgression.  
  
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,  
  
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest  
  
With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown  
  
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.  
  
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;  
  
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;  
  
Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:  
  
What is it else? a madness most discreet,  
  
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.  
  
Farewell, my coz.  
  
OLIVER:  Soft! I will go along;  
  
An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.  
  
DRACO:  Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here;  
  
This is not Draco, he's some other where.  
  
OLIVER:  Tell me in sadness, who is that you love.  
  
DRACO:  What, shall I groan and tell thee?  
  
OLIVER:  Groan! why, no.  
  
But sadly tell me who.  
  
DRACO:  Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:  
  
Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill!  
  
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.  
  
OLIVER:  I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved.  
  
DRACO:  A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love.  
  
OLIVER:  A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.  
  
DRACO:  Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit  
  
With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit;  
  
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,  
  
From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.  
  
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,  
  
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,  
  
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:  
  
O, she is rich in beauty, only poor,  
  
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.  
  
OLIVER:  Then she hat sworn that she will still live chaste?  
  
DRACO:  She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste,  
  
For beauty starved with her severity  
  
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.  
  
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,  
  
To merit bliss by making me despair:  
  
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow  
  
Do I live dead that live to tell it now.  
  
OLIVER:  Be ruled by me, forget to think of her.  
  
DRACO:  O, teach me how I should forget to think.  
  
OLIVER:  By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties.  
  
DRACO: 'Tis the way  
  
To call hers exquisite, in question more:  
  
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows  
  
Being black put us in mind they hide the fair;  
  
He that is strucken blind cannot forget  
  
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:  
  
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,  
  
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note  
  
Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?  
  
Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget.  
  
OLIVER:  I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.  
  
Exit all.  
  
A.N. OK I know what ur thinking, pretty lame, I cant help it though, I love Shakespeare and I love Romeo and Juliet as well, so yea, read if you want to, don't if you don't want to.  
  
Don't bother me. 


	3. a street

Act 1, Scene 2  
  
  
  
A street.  
  
  
  
Enter GRANGER, PERCY, and House Elf  
  
  
  
GRANGER:Â  But Montague is bound as well as I,  
  
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,  
  
For men so old as we to keep the peace.  
  
PERCY:Â  Of honourable reckoning are you both;  
  
And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long.  
  
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?  
  
GRANGER:Â  But saying o'er what I have said before:  
  
My child is yet a stranger in the world;  
  
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years,  
  
Let two more summers wither in their pride,  
  
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.  
  
PERCY:Â  Younger than she are happy mothers made.  
  
GRANGER:Â  And too soon marr'd are those so early made.  
  
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,  
  
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:  
  
But woo her, gentle Percy, get her heart,  
  
My will to her consent is but a part;  
  
Anshe agree, within her scope of choice  
  
Lies my consent and fair according voice.  
  
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,  
  
Whereto I have invited many a guest,  
  
Such as I love; and you, among the store,  
  
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.  
  
At my poor house look to behold this night  
  
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:  
  
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel  
  
When well-apparell'd April on the heel  
  
Of limping winter treads, even such delight  
  
Among fresh female buds shall you this night  
  
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,  
  
And like her most whose merit most shall be:  
  
Which on more view, of many mine being one  
  
May stand in number, though in reckoning none,  
  
Come, go with me.  
  
To House Elf, giving a paper  
  
Go, sirrah, trudge about  
  
Through fair Hogsmeade; find those persons out  
  
Whose names are written there, and to them say,  
  
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.  
  
Exeunt GRANGER and PERCY  
  
HOUSE ELF:Â  Find them out whose names are written here! It is  
  
written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his  
  
yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with  
  
his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am  
  
sent to find those persons whose names are here  
  
writ, and can never find what names the writing  
  
person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time.  
  
Enter OLIVER and DRACO  
  
OLIVER:Â  Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning,  
  
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;  
  
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;  
  
One desperate grief cures with another's languish:  
  
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,  
  
And the rank poison of the old will die.  
  
DRACO:Â  Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that.  
  
OLIVER:Â  For what, I pray thee?  
  
DRACO:Â  For your broken shin.  
  
OLIVER:Â  Why, Draco, art thou mad?  
  
DRACO:Â  Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is;  
  
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,  
  
Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow.  
  
HOUSE ELF:Â  God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read?  
  
DRACO:Â  Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.  
  
HOUSE ELF:Â  Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I  
  
pray, can you read any thing you see?  
  
DRACO:Â  Ay, if I know the letters and the language.  
  
HOUSE ELF:Â  Ye say honestly: rest you merry!  
  
DRACO:Â  Stay, fellow; I can read.  
  
Reads  
  
'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;  
  
County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady  
  
widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely  
  
nieces; George and his brother Fred; mine  
  
uncle Granger, his wife and daughters; my fair niece  
  
Pansy; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin  
  
Marcus, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair  
  
assembly: whither should they come?  
  
HOUSE ELF:Â  Up.  
  
DRACO:Â  Whither?  
  
HOUSE ELF:Â  To supper; to our house.  
  
DRACO:Â  Whose house?  
  
HOUSE ELF:Â  My master's.  
  
DRACO:Â  Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before.  
  
HOUSE ELF:Â  Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the  
  
great rich Granger; and if you be not of the house  
  
of Malfoy, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine.  
  
Rest you merry!  
  
Exit  
  
OLIVER:Â  At this same ancient feast of Granger's  
  
Sups the fair Pansy whom thou so lovest,  
  
With all the admired beauties of Hogsmeade:  
  
Go thither; and, with unattainted eye,  
  
Compare her face with some that I shall show,  
  
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.  
  
DRACO:Â  When the devout religion of mine eye  
  
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;  
  
And these, who often drown'd could never die,  
  
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!  
  
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun  
  
Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.  
  
OLIVER:Â  Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,  
  
Herself poised with herself in either eye:  
  
But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd  
  
Your lady's love against some other maid  
  
That I will show you shining at this feast,  
  
And she shall scant show well that now shows best.  
  
DRACO:Â  I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,  
  
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own.  
  
Exeunt 


	4. another street

ACT 1, Scene 4  
  
A Street  
  
Enter DRACO, GEORGE, OLIVER, with five or six  
  
Maskers, Wand-bearers, and others  
  
DRACO:Â  What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?  
  
Or shall we on without a apology?  
  
OLIVER:Â  The date is out of such prolixity:  
  
We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf,  
  
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,  
  
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;  
  
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke  
  
After the prompter, for our entrance:  
  
But let them measure us by what they will;  
  
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.  
  
DRACO:Â  Give me my wand: I am not for this ambling;  
  
Being but heavy, I will bear the light. Lumos!  
  
GEORGE:Â  Nay, gentle Draco, we must have you dance.  
  
DRACO:Â  Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes  
  
With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead  
  
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.  
  
GEORGE:Â  You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings,  
  
And soar with them above a common bound.  
  
DRACO:Â  I am too sore enpierced with his shaft  
  
To soar with his light feathers, and so bound,  
  
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:  
  
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.  
  
GEORGE:Â  And, to sink in it, should you burden love;  
  
Too great oppression for a tender thing.  
  
DRACO:Â  Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,  
  
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.  
  
GEORGE:Â  If love be rough with you, be rough with love;  
  
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.  
  
Give me a case to put my visage in:  
  
A visor for a visor! what care I  
  
What curious eye doth quote deformities?  
  
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.  
  
OLIVER:Â  Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in,  
  
But every man betake him to his legs.  
  
DRACO:Â  A torch for me: let wantons light of heart  
  
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels,  
  
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase;  
  
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on.  
  
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.  
  
GEORGE:Â  Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word:  
  
If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire  
  
Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st  
  
Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!  
  
DRACO:Â  Nay, that's not so.  
  
GEORGE: I mean, sir, in delay  
  
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.  
  
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits  
  
Five times in that ere once in our five wits.  
  
DRACO:Â  And we mean well in going to this mask;  
  
But 'tis no wit to go.  
  
GEORGE: Why, may one ask?  
  
DRACO:Â  I dreamed a dream to-night.  
  
GEORGE: And so did I.  
  
DRACO:Â  Well, what was yours?  
  
GEORGE: That dreamers often lie.  
  
DRACO:Â  In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.  
  
  
  
GEORGE:Â  O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.  
  
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes  
  
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone  
  
On the fore-finger of an alderman,  
  
Drawn with a team of little atomies  
  
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;  
  
Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs,  
  
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,  
  
The traces of the smallest spider's web,  
  
The collars of the moonshine's watery beams,  
  
Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film,  
  
Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,  
  
Not so big as a round little worm  
  
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;  
  
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut  
  
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,  
  
Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.  
  
And in this state she gallops night by night  
  
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;  
  
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight,  
  
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,  
  
O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream,  
  
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,  
  
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:  
  
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,  
  
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;  
  
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail  
  
Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep,  
  
Then dreams, he of another benefice:  
  
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,  
  
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,  
  
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,  
  
Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon  
  
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,  
  
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two  
  
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab  
  
That plats the manes of horses in the night,  
  
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,  
  
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:  
  
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,  
  
That presses them and learns them first to bear,  
  
Making them women of good carriage:  
  
This is sheâ€"  
  
  
  
DRACO: Peace, peace, George, peace!  
  
Thou talk'st of nothing.  
  
GEORGE: True, I talk of dreams,  
  
Which are the children of an idle brain,  
  
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,  
  
Which is as thin of substance as the air  
  
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes  
  
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,  
  
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,  
  
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.  
  
  
  
OLIVER:Â  This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves;  
  
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.  
  
DRACO:Â Â  I fear, too early: for my mind misgives  
  
Some consequence yet hanging in the stars  
  
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date  
  
With this night's revels and expire the term  
  
Of a despised life closed in my breast  
  
By some vile forfeit of untimely death.  
  
But He, that hath the steerage of my course,  
  
Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen.  
  
OLIVER:Â  Strike, drum.  
  
Exeunt marching. 


End file.
